Bobby kept mostly quiet on the flight to Florida. He saw in between Briggs and Dixon on the bumpy flight over the south. He kept his mouth shut because Sergeant Jackson was just four seats away from him. He sure as hell didn't want to hear his mouth. Bobby wasn't afraid of Jackson. It was more like respect that edged close towards fear. Jackson fought in the War, not just the "Korean Conflict" like a few of the men here, but in the big one. While he was fighting Krauts and Japs and whoever the hell else, Bobby was literally sucking on his momma's titty. Jackson managed to make it through the war without dying, something Bobby's old man had never accomplished. 

From Texas, Jackson was dickhead with a peckerwood accent. He treated Bobby like shit, but he also treated Dixon like shit and Dixon was whiter than snow. That counted for something. Still, a colorblind asshole is still an asshole. Bobby rummaged through his pack to find his smokes. Not finding them, he nudged Dixon awake. The tall, gangly looking guy blinked slowly as he woke up.

"What, man?"

"Let me bum a cigarette."

Dixon groggily pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and passed them to Bobby. He struck a match and lit up a cigarette, inhaling the smoke into his lungs before exhaling a long cloud above his head.